


The Owl & the Son-of-a-Squib

by Redrikki



Series: Houses Alike in Dignity [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Culture Shock, Gen, Meet-Cute, Squibs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew and Isobel Crawley were quite shocked when an owl swooped down and dropped an envelope on their breakfast table.  </p>
<p>"It's from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry."</p>
<p>“Really? What do they want?”</p>
<p>“They want to change our lives.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Owl & the Son-of-a-Squib

In all the years of his marriage, there was only one secret which Dr. Reginald Crawley kept from his wife. It was, admittedly, a rather large secret. He hadn’t kept it out of any sort of maliciousness; it was just too painful for him to talk about. The truth was that Reginald was a Squib, a shamefully magic-less offspring of the powerful Crawley family. They had treated him well, compared to some, providing him with the education and funds he needed to make a life for himself before they cast him off into the Muggle world. It was better, his parents had insisted, that he make his own way and that the rest of the wizarding world never find out about the blight on the Crawley family tree.

So it was that Reginald Crawley’s son and widow were quite shocked when, a month after his death, an owl swooped down and dropped an envelope on their breakfast table.

“What is it?” Isabel Crawley asked her son as he plucked the now somewhat greasy envelope off his bacon. “Who is it from?”

The boy gingerly turned the envelope over as though it might explode. It was addressed to him, Mr. Matthew Crawley, and sealed with a strange purple wax crest. He sliced it open with his butter knife and read the most unbelievable letter of his life. “It’s from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Matthew was amazed his voice was so steady. He aught to be laughing, but somehow it didn’t feel a joke. It felt powerful and right, like the time he’d knocked over his mother’s favorite vase only to have it stop midair instead of shattering on the floor. 

“Really?” asked his mother, sounding more confused than shocked. “What do they want?”

“They want to change our lives.”

****

Two weeks later, Matthew and Isobel Crawley stood in the rather dim and shabby common room of the Leaky Cauldron. The place was nearly empty except for a trio of elderly women in pointed hats drinking sherry, a young man with long greasy hair and clothes out of a Dickinson novel, and the shriveled nut of a barkeep.

Matthew frowned. Magic was a good deal dingier than he’d imagined. “Is it too late to refuse?”

Isobel sighed. Her son had fretted and fussed in the weeks since the letter came, seeming alternately pleased and terrified. It was growing tiresome. “Magic can not be refused. You are a wizard, Matthew. You’ve always been a wizard. Best embrace it now.”

There was loud pop and then a man stepped out of the shadows. Dressed in dark blue robes spangled with silver stars, he would have looked precisely as Matthew thought a wizard should if not for his receding hairline and mousy demeanor. “Matthew Crawley? Mrs. Crawley? I’m Professor Molesley, here to escort you through Diagon Alley. Shall we?”

“By all means,” said Isobel and then they went.

Diagon Alley was Oxford Street only brighter, sharper, more, well, _magical._ There were shiny caldrons, hooting owls, brightly flashing store signs, and seemingly hundreds of people in truly eye-shattering robes. It was beautiful and amazing, but it wasn’t him. From the time he was a little boy, Matthew had plotted his whole life out: good school, good university, and a comfortable middle class existence earned with the strength of his mind rather than the sweat of his brow. This magic business threw the whole plan off course. Matthew didn’t know where his life was headed or who he would be when he got there. His hands curled into fists. “I won’t let it change me,” he promised himself.

“What was that?” Isobel asked, looking up from the selection of medical potions she’d been examining. 

“I won't let it change me,” Matthew repeated, his spine straight and his chin stuck stubbornly out before him. “I will live a sensible life, with a sensible job.” He frowned at a group of giggling girls pelting passers-by with enchanted bubbles. “And I shall have a sensible, _normal_ wife.”

“Golly!” exclaimed a voice behind him. Matthew spun around to find a pretty girl his own age with glossy brown hair and wine colored robes. “Are we witches really as bad as all that?”

To his embarrassment, Matthew found his mouth was hanging open. “I…er…,” he stammered witlessly. He flushed as the girl raised a single, smugly amused eyebrow.

“Mary!” A woman called from down the street. The girl, Mary apparently, gave Matthew one last looking over before sauntering off, leaving him feeling unsettled and more than a bit foolish.

Isobel and Professor Molesley exchanged amused glances before the professor’s pointed cough drew back Matthew’s attention. “There’s quite a bit of shopping to do,” he said, “so we’d best get on.” And so they did.

*****

The next few weeks flew by in a haze of alternating excited anticipation and near panic. Matthew had always know that he’d be leaving home for school, but the magic had been an unexpected twist. He read every one of his text books in a desperate bid to understand what was coming and what would be expected of him. Still, none of it prepared him for the enchanted ceiling and the floating candles of the Hogwarts Great Hall.

As he looked around, Matthew’s wandering gaze snagged on a familiar face. Somehow he had missed spotting her on the train or on the boats, but here she was. Mary. They had only spoken for a few intensely awkward moments, but there was something comforting about seeing her here, chatting with her little blonde friend. If Matthew was adrift in a world full of strangers and singing hats, then she could be his anchor. 

The singing hat finished it’s song and Professor Hughes, the Deputy Headmistress, stepped onto the dais. Dressed all in black with her hair pulled smartly back, she could have been a rather severe figure, but instead she seemed to radiate a sort of motherly warmth. “We’ll start the sorting now,” she explained kindly. “When I call you’re name, come put on the hat and sit down to be sorted.” She flashed them all a reassuring smile before turning to her list. “Barrow, Thomas.”

A dark haired boy with an almost vampiric complexion came forward and was sorted into Slytherin. Professor Hughes gave him an encouraging nod and sent him on his way. “Crawley,” she called and Matthew started forward, only to be brought to a halt when she added “Mary.”

His Mary…Diagon Alley Mary…Mary _Crawley_ came forward instead to accept the Sorting Hat like it was a crown and the stool her rightful throne while Matthew stood gaping like a fish. He couldn’t quite get his mind round it. What was happening? How was this happening? What was going on?

It took Professor Hughes calling “Crawley, Matthew” twice before he realized that she meant him and not some third mysterious relative. Just as the hat came down over his eyes Matthew got some small satisfaction seeing that Mary Crawley looked just as shocked as him.


End file.
